


The Switch

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, John Asks For A Kiss Three Times, John Gets Jealous, John's Had Enough, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Gets Confused, Sherlock Gets Drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:58:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2015439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired of Sherlock's seemingly uninterested attitude, John decides to give him a taste of his own medicine. The results are surprising when Sherlock flips the tables and begins to behave more like John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock Upsets John

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock glanced up from his desk as John came in the door.

"I texted you an hour ago saying that I needed you at the flat," he said, looking back down at his work. "Are you unfamiliar with what the word 'urgent' means? Let me help you out: it means 'not an hour later'."

John rolled his eyes and resisted an obscene hand gesture. "I was getting the milk for _your_ tea so I would appreciate if you weren't rude," he said, moving into the kitchen. 

"Obviously you were also doing something else, as a trip to the shop to get milk would have taken at most fifteen minutes," Sherlock said. "However, I am uninterested in the details. You indicated you would be willing to help with cases. I am interested in your expert opinion."

"About what?" John asked, not mentioning the woman he'd been talking to. What would come of their chat was still to be determined.

"Take a look at that," Sherlock said, sliding a photograph of a dead body towards John. "Does that seem like clothing a man his age would choose of his own accord? It looks appalling to me, and I wonder if he was dressed after he was killed. As you seem to have an expertise in bad clothing, do you think it's likely a thirty-two year old man would be wearing that outfit on a night out?"

"Sherlock, I don't know. I can tell you about the bruises -- but I have no idea about his clothes. And I'll have you know that insulting me doesn't make me want to be helpful," he added. 

"John, it's not insulting if it's true. Look at yourself -- very few people would believe that you'd actually have chosen that outfit unless you were under distress, but I know that to be untrue," Sherlock said, reaching over and pulling the photograph back towards him. "Fine. You're refusing to help me. You can go back to whatever important business you were doing before returning." 

John rolled his eyes again and texted the woman's number, going back to putting the groceries away. That was classic Sherlock. Rude and selfish when he needed something, hardly there when he didn't. John tried to remember they were only flatmates, but he liked to think they might be friends as well. Sherlock made it very difficult sometimes, and he wondered how he'd like a taste of his own medicine.

"John," Sherlock said impatiently, "could you not do your text flirting in your room? I am trying to concentrate and the noise is distracting."

"No. I live here too, and I'll use whatever room I want, thanks." He turned up the volume and continued typing away, not looking over at him.

Sherlock set his papers down and turned towards John. "Is something bothering you, John? Because when something's bothering you, it bothers me. Or at least you make it bother me, so what's going on?"

John had expected Sherlock to ignore him and now felt a bit ashamed at the childish behavior. "Everything is fine," he said. "I'll be up in my room."

"That would probably be beneficial to me," Sherlock said. "When's dinner?"

John fumed. "Whenever you go get it," he shrugged casually, climbing up the stairs. He knew that was a bad idea -- Sherlock didn't eat for days and left up to him, John would starve to death. But he'd sneak out later if he had to. 

That response surprised Sherlock. John was clearly upset, and Sherlock wished he weren't but wasn't sure how to help. Sherlock just wasn't very good at helping in these kinds of situations, he knew that. Especially if the cause of the upset was John's love life, which seemed to upset John quite a bit. Plus, in all honesty, Sherlock was close to sorting this case, and cases were always the priority. So he went back to work.

By the time he finished it was dark. He put his samples into the fridge but left everything else and nipped down to the Chinese for some take away. He returned and walked up to John's room and knocked on the door, leaving behind a bag of food on the floor. He went down to his own room to eat.

John opened the door and was surprised to see the food. His stomach was growling, and he dug in immediately. When he finished he wandered down to the kitchen to make some tea, putting his leftovers in the fridge.

Sherlock heard John in the kitchen and wondered if that meant he was no longer upset. But he decided not to find out, just in case it didn't. Maybe all John needed was a good sleep and he'd be back to regular.

John called to let Sherlock know there was tea made before heading upstairs to his room again. He read for a bit before falling asleep with the book on his chest.

Sherlock came out for the tea, but John was already gone. He must still be upset. Why John insisted on being so lovelorn all the time, Sherlock could not understand. They hadn't known each other long, but almost every single time Sherlock noticed John's bad mood, it had been because of a woman. Sherlock had already established that that business wasn't really his area. There was nothing he could do. He left his plate in the sink and took his tea back to his bedroom. Once he'd finished it, he read until he fell asleep, dropping the book onto his face before finally admitting defeat. He set the book on his table and turned out his light.

When John woke up the next morning, he reluctantly did the dishes and then opened his laptop to blog about the developments of the latest case.

"Porn this early in the morning?" Sherlock asked as he came out of his bedroom. "Tea made?"

John ignored the first part and just shook his head. "I didn't make tea or breakfast."

"I'll make it," Sherlock said. "You're being surly," he added. Because John was. Which was a little bit confusing. And a little bit annoying. But also kind of interesting.

John glanced up but didn't say anything about the comment. He went back to his computer and continued typing. 

Sherlock brought a mug of tea over to John. "The rest of the notes are on my desk somewhere if you want those." He moved over to his chair and sat down, sipping his tea and waking up properly. 

John thanked him for the tea. "I'll take a look at them later," he said.

"Whatever suits," Sherlock said. "Do you have plans for the day then?"

"I might be going out later," he said, looking over at him. "I don't know yet. How about you?"

Sherlock had been assuming (maybe hoping) that they'd be doing something together, but it appeared that wouldn't be happening. "Working, I guess," he said, "I've got some experiments that I might as well work on until the next case." He looked over at John who was not looking at him. Why wasn't John looking at him? They were talking. 

"Do you have food left over? I was going to have the rest of my Chinese for lunch," John mumbled.

"I'll be fine," Sherlock said. He stood up and stretched. He moved over to his desk, sitting down and fiddling with the papers.

"I have plenty if you want some," John offered.

"I'm fine," Sherlock repeated. If John wasn't in the mood to play with him, he wasn't going to beg for attention. He'd be mature about, he thought, unaware that his pouting wasn't actually the most mature reaction available to him.

"Okay," John said, going back to his blog. He was painfully slow at typing, and it was taking forever.

"Fine," Sherlock said. He knew it was just to get the last word, but he couldn't help himself. He opened his email but didn't find much. He was really, really not good at not getting attention. "Need me to look over that before you post it?" he said, turning his body in his chair to face John. 

"I've still got a bit to go. You can if you want but you'd better be nice," John said. He was talking lightly, finally looking up at Sherlock.

"I'm always nice, John," Sherlock said, pleased he had finally got John's attention. "Well, I'm always honest, and ultimately being honest is the nicest way to be, when you think about it. Which most people don't."

"Well, it's true most people don't appreciate that. Sometimes a small lie is okay -- like maybe not telling me my clothes are atrocious."

"So you admit they are?" Sherlock said.

"Never mind," John said, going back to his blog.

Sherlock frowned. "John," he said quietly.

"Hmm?" John looked up again.

"Nothing," Sherlock said, looking down as he stared at his laptop. Stared through his laptop really. Sherlock wasn't sure why, but John's behaviour was bothering him a bit. Normally John was more focused on . . . well, on _him_ and in this short time, Sherlock had grown a bit used to that.

John waited a bit longer and then went back to typing. "Will you bring me the notes?" He asked without looking up again. Sherlock always asked for things in the same room -- he wondered if this would work.

"They're right there," Sherlock said, shoving them towards the corner of the desk. No one moved for a minute. Then Sherlock stood up, took them over and handed them to John. "They're right here," he said in a slightly annoyed voice, before returning to his desk.

John took them and set them on the arm before continuing to work, fighting the urge to thank him. He was going to give Sherlock a taste of his own medicine. 

Sherlock went back to work for a bit. It was strange being in the flat without John talking. Since he'd been here, there were many times Sherlock hadn't spoken. There were even times Sherlock had to ask John to stop speaking. But there weren't so many when John didn't speak and certainly not for so long. Had he even said good morning to Sherlock?

It took everything in John not to glance over at him. Sherlock could go two whole days with saying a single word but this . . . John had started this. After about an hour, he got up to get his lunch. When he opened the fridge, his mouth fell open. Something was leaking out of a jar which was on top of his leftovers box. It was eating through the box.

He shut the fridge and made sure he had his wallet before throwing on his coat. "I'm going out," he said before leaving.

Sherlock turned at John's movement and stood up when he stormed out the door. What was going on? He took a step to follow, but thought better of it -- instead he walked to the window and watched John huff down the street. He sat back down to think.

John was obviously bothered by something. He'd been grumpy since he returned yesterday with the milk. A trip that took him significantly longer than it should. Obviously he had been with a woman, and it had not gone well. 

However, John had unsuccessful times with women since he'd lived in the flat and had never been so grumpy for so long. This must mean that this woman was special to John. Even though he hadn't mentioned her to Sherlock -- also odd, because John seemed to mention them all to Sherlock.

Sherlock wished he could do something to help -- John was a good man and deserved to be happy. And Sherlock deserved not to have to be punished because some woman broke John's heart. But Sherlock couldn't help in these matters, though he had an inkling that John was probably a little too nice sometimes to the women he dated. He occasionally set himself up as a doormat. No one falls in love with a doormat. John needed to stand up for himself a little more. That's what gets and keeps people's interested.

But John and Sherlock didn't give each other romantic advice. They didn't really talk about things like that. They were more than flatmates, more than colleagues -- Sherlock had never put those things into words, but they were true. However, Sherlock just couldn't imagine having a heart-to-heart about John's love life, so all there was to do was try to wait it out.

John walked away from the flat without a destination in mind. He'd been hoping that the woman from the grocery store would have gotten back to him, but he was now giving up on her. He thought back to the fridge and sighed, stuffing his hands into his pocket. He supposed it wasn't that big of a deal -- not big enough for a storm out -- but Sherlock continued to do things like that despite how many times John had asked him to be more respectful. Words weren't working anymore. 

He went into a small bistro and sat in the back, looking over the menu. He knew Sherlock was a difficult man -- Sherlock had said so himself and John had agreed to stay anyways. Despite his faults, he was smart and clever and he cared about John. A small voice in his head snorted, but John ignored it. It wasn't the way others cared. It was different. He'd fixed John's leg, let him tag along on cases, and even called John his friend which, by what he'd been hearing, was very rare. 

But the way he was acting -- John didn't know what to do anymore. If he couldn't talk to Sherlock, he would _show_ him what it was like and hopefully things would get better. He ordered his food and ate quickly before making his way back to the flat. He didn't have a proper game plan, but he was sure he could think of something.   

Sherlock finished work on his experiments -- he hadn't found what he'd been expecting, but that's what experiments were for, after all. He continually checked his email, hoping for a case. John and Sherlock worked well on cases; a case would take John's mind off his upset or, at the very least, take Sherlock's mind off John's upset. For some reason, he decided to properly tidy his things away after these experiments. He had also heard from Lestrade so he could ditch the samples in the fridge. He noticed they had spilled onto the leftovers, so he cleaned those out as well. He put the kettle on just as John returned. He smiled and said, "Tea's almost ready. Did your walk help?"  
  
John had to actually pause by the door because things were . . . clean. Or rather they were organised. He looked around and then realised Sherlock had asked him a question. "Sure," he said, hanging his jacket up. He moved to his chair slowly and forced himself not to keep staring. "What happened in here?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said. "I just finished." He handed John his tea and went in to sit down in his chair. "Do you have plans for later?"  
  
John thanked him for the tea and leaned back on his chair comfortably. "No, but I will have to go get dinner," he said.

"I can get it . . . if you want," Sherlock said.

John glanced over at him. "Well, you did ruin my lunch so I suppose you should," he said.

"How did I ruin your lunch? I didn't even text you once while you were out," Sherlock said, defensively, before standing up. "I'm going to take a shower."  
  
"Fine," John said, not bothering to explain about the experiment on his leftovers. He went back to the computer and said nothing else to him.

Sherlock stood for a long time under the hot shower. Eventually he got out and snuck into his bedroom. For some reason, before getting dressed, he decided to lie down and, within a few minutes, he was asleep. But he didn't sleep long, so he got up and got dressed before returning to the living room.

"Sorry about that," Sherlock said. "I seem to have needed a quick nap." However, when he looked over at John, it didn't appear he had even heard him, let alone realised he'd been out of the room for over an hour. Sherlock moved over to his own chair and coughed. "Maybe we should watch a movie tonight? You know -- no work, no blog, just . . . hanging out," the phrase sounded quite odd coming out of Sherlock's mouth. "You could pick one while I go get dinner. What do you think?"

John looked up at him. "I asked if you could pass me my phone," he said. This was the hardest one yet because a movie sounded nice, but he needed to stick to his plan. So, he pretended he hasn't even noticed Sherlock had left, or even that he'd spoken.

"What?" Sherlock said. "Oh sorry," he stood up and walked over to get John's phone, setting it down next to him. "So what do you think?"

"About what?" John asked, actually looking over at him now.

"About hanging out tonight? A movie and dinner?" Sherlock said. "You up for it?"

"Oh right. Yes," he nodded. He went back to looking at Sherlock's notes and typing up the case.

"All right then," Sherlock said. He wished John would put those notes away. Why did he have to get so obsessive about that blog? He stood up again. "Well, I don't want to bother you while you're working. I think I'll head over to see Molly. Maybe she's got something interesting for us. Think about what you want for dinner and send me a text. Do you think you'll be done by seven?"

"Probably," John said, looking through the notes again. "Maybe Italian tonight, I think."

"I'll go by Angelo's," Sherlock said. "Talk to you in a bit then?" he added but John's attention was no longer on him. He left, pulling his scarf round his neck.

He arrived at the hospital, but couldn't find Molly so he nosed through some of the files. Eventually she arrived, slightly breathless and a little giggly. She began talking about her new boyfriend, which Sherlock found rather tedious. Partly because he knew it wouldn't work out, and partly because whenever Molly had a new boyfriend she had a little less time for Sherlock. Finally, he came up with an excuse to leave and slid out the door.

He checked his phone but there was no message from John. Was he still working? Had he forgot about their evening together? He sent a quick text asking what John wanted to eat and went down the cafe to have a cup of tea while he waited. But no response came.

John hadn't heard his phone going off, busy setting up another very Sherlock-like scenario. He spread the notes on the table where Sherlock's beakers and test tubes were, along with bringing his computer over there and putting it on the table as well. Invading his space with things that could possibly mess everything up -- not as drastic as poison or chemicals, but still. Then he finally checked his phone. 

_Thought we agreed on Italian? -JW_

Sherlock picked up his phone. Finally, John had responded. Still surly, though. What was going on? Maybe it was Sherlock, maybe he shouldn't have pushed John into plans for the night.

_I know. I meant what precisely would you like me to bring you? SH_

He stared at it for a minute, but no response came. Was he supposed to just get John's usual? He felt unsure about everything now. He checked his watch -- it was almost seven, the time they'd agreed on. What was John doing? He poured the remnants of the tea into his mug and waited.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock lifted his head. He recognised his old roommate immediately, though it'd been over fifteen years since they'd seen each other. "Ian, my god," he said and then smiled.

The man touched Sherlock's arm and then sat down at the table. "You look precisely the same," he said. "I've only been back in London a few weeks -- I would have got round to looking you up eventually. I should've known I'd find you sitting somewhere, sullenly drinking tea."

"Was it all right then -- was it the right decision?" Sherlock asked. "You stayed longer than you had to, you must have found some reward in it."

Ian smiled. "Look at you -- still deducing like a pro. Then I needn't say anymore, you must be able to read it all over my face."  
  
Sherlock glanced up and could. "I am a professional now -- consulting detective," he said. He reached in his pocket for one of his cards and slid it across the table.

"Impressive. Not surprising but impressive," the man said, glancing at his watch. "Look, this isn't your dinner, is it? Actually, I don't care what the answer is -- let's go get some proper food. Let's get caught up. I'm leaving to go up north tomorrow -- let's catch up before I go again."

Sherlock picked up his phone -- still nothing from John. Maybe giving him time alone would be the right thing to do. He set the phone on vibrate and slipped it back into his coat pocket. "All right then," he said, tossing some coins on the table for a tip and following Ian out of the cafe.

"Where to?" Ian asked.

Sherlock led them to Angelo's, thinking that whenever he heard from John, he could at least take an order home for him. He slipped his coat off and set it on the opposite chair. 

"A bottle of your finest red," Ian said to Angelo. "Make that two actually."  
  
Sherlock smiled at Angelo and then at Ian. It was nice to see him again.

When John finished with his little project, he checked his phone again. Oh. But it was odd that someone as observant as Sherlock wouldn't know what he liked. 

_The lasagna, please. -JW_

_How much longer will you be? I am picking a movie. -JW_

Despite what was happening between them at the moment, John had to admit he was excited about hanging out with Sherlock like this. All the time he'd lived here they had been flatmates and colleagues and a little bit friends, but this would bring them closer and he liked that idea. He checked his phone and there was no answer yet. He started getting angry. This was Sherlock's idea -- why was he ignoring John? 

_I have the movie ready -- I'm starving. -JW_

John waited a few more minutes, the title screen playing and replaying, waiting for him to pick something. He sighed and leaned back, staring at his phone. It seemed to take forever. Every minute dragged like an hour. He got up and made himself a sandwich and some eggs. He sat on the sofa again and waited. There was still no message. 

_Thanks a lot. I had a great time. -JW_

He tossed his phone on the sofa, leaving it behind as he went up to his room. He shut the door and scolded himself for being angry -- for getting his hopes up in the first place. He changed into pajamas and climbed into bed. 


	2. Sherlock Further Upsets John

After they'd finished their food, and the two bottles of wine, Sherlock grabbed Angelo's attention. "Can I get some lasagna to take away?" he asked. Angelo nodded and went back to get it.

"For whom?" Ian asked. "I can't believe you ate as much as you did, you're surely not going to eat more."  
  
"For my friend," Sherlock said. "Flatmate, my colleague."  
  
"You said friend first," Ian said. "You have a friend? And you're looking after them, bringing food? You sure it's just a friend?"  
  
Sherlock nodded. "As you say, a friend is unusual enough -- let's not make it any more complicated by adding romance. He's at home working, I just thought I'd take him some dinner."

"Very sweet," Ian said. "Sherlock Holmes being sweet? My god, what has the world come to?"  
  
"He's good," Sherlock said, smiling a little at the thought of John. "You should meet him. Let's go meet him. He's smart and even better than you at helping me."  
  
"Ouch," Ian said. "There's the rude Sherlock I remember."  
  
"Come on," Sherlock said. He stood up when Angelo brought over John's dinner, but he moved a little too quickly and tipped slightly, having to grip the table to catch his balance.  
  
"Sit down, Sherlock," Ian said. "He sounds just perfect, but I'll have to meet him another time. Let's get a cab and I'll see you home." He stood up and pulled Sherlock's arm, leading him out of the restaurant. In the cab he said, "Clearly you're not used to drinking. How about the other things?"

"Clean," Sherlock said, staring out the window until the passing scenes started to make him feel dizzy. "I'm good now, really," he added, glancing up at Ian. "I've settled into life now -- my work, my flat, John, it's all good."

Ian reached over and tapped Sherlock's arm. "Good," he said, "good, Sherlock. I'm glad. I'm glad we bumped into each other. It was really good to see you."

"I'm glad as well," Sherlock said. As the cab pulled up in front of the flat, he added, "You can find me now. Don't be a stranger." He got out of the cab and headed into the flat.

The stairs were a little harder to negotiate than usual, but he was doing his best to breathe deeply and get his head together. He went into the flat.

It appeared that John had already gone to bed. He moved to put the lasagna into the fridge, before he realised he'd actually left it at Angelo's. Annoying. He put the kettle on and went into the bathroom to wash his face. He poured his tea, but not all the way to the top so it was a bit easier to carry without spilling. He moved to sit at the table, but he found no place to set his tea down. The table was covered in stuff -- but not Sherlock's stuff. He felt like he was going to drop the mug so he leaned down onto the table, but it wasn't the table, it was John's laptop which was part way off and it fell to the floor in a crash. The noise caused Sherlock to start, and he dropped his cup. He swore aloud and then bent over to try to clean up the mess.

John jumped at the sound and came out of his room, watching Sherlock picking up the broken glass. "What happened? What are you doing?" He noticed his laptop on the floor then and fumed. He stormed down the steps and picked it up. "What did you do?"

"Where have you been all night?" Sherlock asked. As he heard the words come out of his mouth, they didn't sound precisely right. "Why is your stuff all over the table?" He scooped the broken mug into the bin and sat down.

"Where have _I_ been?" John half shouted. "You were supposed to bring dinner so we could watch our movie! Instead you've been out --" He paused and smelled him. "Have you been drinking?"

"John, you should have come with us," Sherlock said, smiling as he pushed to lean back in his chair before realising what a horribly bad idea that was. "You should have come -- you'd have had fun. But instead you had to work, because you never want to have fun with me." He looked around for his tea, before remembering that he had dropped it so he stood up to make another cup.

"Who's 'we'?" John asked.

"Ian," Sherlock said as if it were painfully obvious.

"Who the hell is Ian?" John asked, realizing the swelling feeling in his chest was jealousy.

"Ian," he said, as if saying it one more time would mean anything to John. "We used to live together, work on cases. Like you. But he's nice. You used to be nice. You used to like me. Why don't you like me anymore, John?" Sherlock's brain-to-mouth censor seemed be missing.

"Why don't I--" John caught off and tried to control his breathing and his temper. "Well, Sherlock, let's see. You leave your mess everywhere, ignore me unless you need something handed to you, dump your experiments on my food, send me out for everything and then complain about how long I take about it, and you constantly ridicule almost every decision I make!" He dumped his computer onto his chair and turned to face him. "You can go run with _Ian_ for all I care." He moved for the stairs again, his hands opening and closing. He was so jealous and so confused about his feelings for Sherlock which seemed to add to his annoyance. Something more could never work, yet now he was punishing Sherlock for not realising that that's what he wanted. More. 

"Don't walk away, John," Sherlock said. All of what John had said bounced around in Sherlock's brain. "I'm sorry that woman broke your heart. I'm sorry I can't help you."

"What woman?" John asked, turning around to face him. "What are you talking about?"

"The woman yesterday who made you turn mean to me," Sherlock said. "I wish you had come out with me tonight. It was fun. I wanted you to have fun tonight. That's all I wanted."

"There is no woman," John said. "I talked to someone for a few minutes and nothing came of it. And what would I have done out with you tonight? Been the third wheel on your little date?" 

"If you weren't upset about a woman, why have you been ignoring me?" Sherlock said. His mug was somehow empty already -- he wasn't sure he had actually drunk it, all he could taste in his mouth was wine. He stood up to get himself some water. He sat back down. "You always pay attention to me and I like it and now you won't pay attention to me at all even when I want to have fun with you," he said. 

"Want to have fun with me? You bloody ditched me while I sat here waiting for you. Like I always do." John swallowed hard and shook his head. "I already told you why I was angry. You only pay me attention when you need me for something -- to send a text or give you a pen or something." He was speaking more quietly now. Sherlock had said he liked the attention John gave him, but he was also a showoff so that wasn't exactly news. John liked the attention he got from Sherlock as well, his only problem being that he wished it was for something more than an assistant. 

"I don't even understand what you are talking about, John," Sherlock said. "I really don't. I really do not." He was shaking his head emphatically but it was starting to rattle him, so he stopped. "Are you mad at me because I need you all the time? Is that what you are trying to say to me? Just be clear for once. I am really having a difficult time following your line of reasoning."

"You don't need me! You need tea poured and texts sent and a blogger for business," he said, realising he was bordering on sounding pathetic now.

"Did you or did you not just watch me pour myself tea?" Sherlock asked.

John rolled his eyes. "Fantastic. Shall I take that from my pay then?" he asked sarcastically.

"Sometimes you are extremely frustrating, John Watson," Sherlock said. "So you're going to leave then? Is that it? You don't want to be with me anymore?"

"No! I want _you_!" John said loudly. In his frustration he didn't even realise what he was saying. "I want you to want more than a bloody pen and I want to give you more than tea and -- " he said, shrugging and sitting down.

"Do you really think that's all you are? Think, John, think. And besides I've wanted you all day --  I wanted to be with you tonight, but you wouldn't even look at me. You seemed happier on your own," Sherlock said. "I missed your voice. You wouldn't talk to me."

"I was acting like you -- the way you act all of the time. And I know you said you act like that before I moved in and I chose to move in anyways but I . . ." 

"But I want you to act like _you_ because _you're_ the one I need," Sherlock said. "I don't need another me, I need you. I'm sorry if you don't like me the way I am . . ."

"I do," John insisted, covering his face. "Too much for my own good," he added quietly. 

"Then will you just act like yourself, please, because I have found this all very confusing," Sherlock said. "No offense, but you have really stepped on my buzz."

John looked up at him and didn't know what to say back. He licked his lips and, just like he always did, he moved into the kitchen to make tea. He worked quietly, filling the kettle and leaning to watch it boil. 

"Don't make any for me if it bothers you so much," Sherlock said. "I don't want to make you do things you don't want to do. That's why I suggested the movie, I want you to want to do things with me, not just for me," he admitted. 

John sighed and walked over to him, gazing up at him. "There's a reason that I keep living here even though there is poison leaking into my food. Even though I can hardly afford my bills. Even though I call off of my job every other day and even though I hardly get any sleep from running around all of bloody London. I want to be with you all of the time, Sherlock. Always." 

"Everything is confusing, John," Sherlock said, "you just yelled at me for needing you all the time." He drank some water. "My head is hurting a little."

"That's not . . ." He shook his head. Why didn't Sherlock understand that it was a different kind of need? "You should go to bed. I'll bring you aspirin for the morning," he said quietly. He turned off the kettle and poured him a glass of water instead. "Come on." 

"I don't want to," Sherlock said, "I'm tired of things not feeling right. I want things to feel right. Please, John, tell me what I should do to make it better. I don't want you to leave." He scrambled around the papers on the table, looking for a blank sheet. He found a pen and wrote down "Don't Do" at the top and then a number one. "Okay, no more asking you for a pen." He wrote that down. "What else?"

"You're missing the point!" John sighed, covering his face again. "I don't care about that stuff -- I don't care if you keep doing those things. I just want you to want _more_ than that. I want you to want to curl up with me on the sofa instead of kicking me off of it to think. I want you to want to kiss me when I walk in the door instead of shouting at me about pens. I want you to tell me that . . . that you love me instead of saying I'm dressed like a kidnapped victim," he mumbled. "I just want everything. The stupid pens and the mess and -- and more."

"Is this how you always are on dates?" Sherlock said, not really stopping to take it all in. "You want someone to kiss you and you show it by being mean to them? You are forbidden from ever judging my behaviour in the future if this is the kind of strategy you rely on. Really, John," he added. "You surprise me." He stood up. "Anything else? You might as well get it all off your chest."

John stared up at him, completely at a loss. "I'm not going to talk to you while you're drunk. I'm going to bed." He got up and headed for the stairs again. The things he's admitted just then were not easy and Sherlock, like always, just treated it like some kind of case. Took in his notes, filed away what he wanted and deleted the rest. That was how it would always be. 

"I'm not drunk," Sherlock said, "well, not very, anymore. You're wrong about that. You're wrong about the other thing you're thinking as well," he added. "All of it -- you -- _matter_ to me. That's all today was about, John. I'm not good at this . . . but you know that. This sort of business confuses me, I can't understand it like I can other things. I can't read between your lines. You have to be clearer."

John paused at the foot of the stairs. "I just told you I want you to kiss me. To love me." He turned around and made himself hold Sherlock's gaze. "I love you, Sherlock. I have fallen in love with you and . . . I don't know what to do with myself. You don't want that -- you said you don't do that sort of thing, and I have never wanted anything more."

"You don't know anything about my feelings, John," Sherlock said. "I barely know them, don't pretend you do. I don't know why I want you to be around me all the time, why I come up with reasons to bring you back into the room moments after you've left, why I spent most of today wondering what was going on in your little head. I don't know the word for that. Is it love then, Mister Expert, is it?"

John looked down and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yes," he said simply. He felt embarrassed and unsure of what to do.  

"All right then," Sherlock said. "I defer to your expertise." He stood up and refilled his glass of water and took a long drink. He turned around and looked over at John by the stairs. "And what shall we do about these revelations?"

John looked up and fought back a smile. "This is the third time I am asking you to kiss me -- I really wish you would listen to me for once," he said. 

"Are you asking me to kiss you?" Sherlock said. 

John blinked at him. Two could play this game, then. "Nope," he said. He turned and climbed the stairs before Sherlock could stop him again, disappearing into his room. He stood by the door and waited, hoping Sherlock was going to come up after him. He wanted to keep going...to keep moving this forward because if he stopped to think about it for too long he would surely become overwhelmed. 

Sherlock watched John and then smiled. He walked over to his coat and dug out his phone, noticing for the first time John's messages from earlier.

_Come back down here, John Watson. Don't be difficult. SH_

John's phone went off on the sofa where he had tossed it before going to bed. Sherlock picked it up and carried it up the stairs. He knocked on John's door.

John sighed in relief and came closer to the door. "Yes?"

"Let me in, please," Sherlock said.

John considered teasing him, keeping up the game, but he was already here and that's what he wanted. He pulled the door open and gazed up at him before moving so he could come in like he'd asked.

"You have to be careful, John Watson," Sherlock said. "I don't understand the normal games people play and my feelings are more easily hurt, because I find them confusing. So you'll have to be careful." He took a step closer to John and put his hands on John's hips. "Have a good think about it. Is this really what you want?" But before he let John answer, Sherlock kissed John's neck, sucking the skin and biting it softly.

John brought his hands to Sherlock's chest and gripped him tightly right away. He dipped to find his gaze, holding it steadily. "I am very sure," he murmured before pressing his lips to Sherlock's.

Sherlock pressed into John's kiss, holding it long and slow. Then he took a little step back and said, "Let's go to bed, I think. I feel a little bit woozy." 

John nodded, taking his hand and leading him over to the bed. He climbed up first and then tugged Sherlock to come up after him. "Are you comfortable like that?"

"No," Sherlock said. He took off his shirt and trousers. "Are you comfortable with me like this?"  
  
John nodded, pulling the covers back and trying not to openly stare at him. "I can still get you some aspirin if you'd like, just in case?"

"No, I don't need aspirin," Sherlock said. "Take your clothes off as well, please."  
  
"Oh. I thought you wanted to sleep," John said, pulling his shirt off. He pushed his pajama pants off as well, slipping his legs under the covers. 

"I do want to sleep," Sherlock said. "But I want you to be comfortable and I want to get by you and touch your skin."  
  
"I was comf -- oh," John finished as he heard the rest of Sherlock's sentence. He lay down on his back and looked over at Sherlock, reaching up to touch his arm and guide him closer to him. 

Sherlock slid closer to John and put his arms around him. "You're nice to me, you're good," Sherlock said. He pressed his head against John's chest. "Ian says I think you're perfect."

"Don't talk about him," John said quietly. "Please," he added. He brought his hand up and pet Sherlock's hair, enjoying the warmth of his skin touching his own. 

"Don't say that," Sherlock said. "I wanted him to meet you. I wanted him to see how perfect you were." Sherlock pressed his mouth onto John's chest, giving it a light kiss.

"He stole you on our date night," John grumbled, closing his eyes at the kiss. 

"He didn't," Sherlock said. "We're having it now, aren't we? Isn't this how your dates usually end?" He smiled against John's skin.

"Shut up," John said, pushing his shoulder lightly. "I was waiting for you. And I know I was angry but I was worried. But mostly angry," he smiled softly. 

"I'm sorry I didn't get your texts, my phone was in my coat and I left that at the bar while we were dancing," Sherlock said.

John tensed his body.

"You okay?" Sherlock asked into John's chest.

John flushed and tried to untense his body a bit -- too late, Sherlock knew. He shifted a bit to try and hide it. "It's fine," he mumbled. 

Sherlock lifted his face up to John's. "It isn't, John. Don't tell me it's fine if it doesn't feel fine. We weren't dancing. We didn't go dancing. It wasn't anything like that. In fact, he was accusing me of romancing you since I was bringing you dinner." He met John's eyes. "I can't always read feelings, John, hiding them makes it even harder for me. Don't make me use tricks to get you to share." He put his mouth on John's then moved it to his cheek and up to his forehead.

"I asked you not to talk about him because I'm jealous and I was angry. And then you told me you were dancing with him and I -- I don't want to be uptight like that. I don't want to be jealous of a friend of yours but I am. I just -- I want you to be all mine," he admitted, looking at Sherlock's chin and shoulder. Anywhere but his eyes.

"John, a man I haven't seen in over a decade knew I was all yours within five minutes so please . . . try," he reached in and kissed him again. He was kissing John. It felt so easy. 

John nodded. "I will. I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I will, Sherlock. I just have to get used to this, I think."

"You have more practice at it than I do," Sherlock said quietly. "I mean the feelings bit." He snuggled in against John. "Have you kissed many men?"

"I haven't kissed any," John said. "I just meant I had to get used to you wanting me," he admitted.

"And get used to your wanting me as well," Sherlock said. "I don't think this is what you were expecting to happen when you said you'd move in."

"No, it wasn't," John said, shaking his head. "You've charmed me," he smiled. 

"Really?" Sherlock said smiling. "Because I'm pretty sure you've spent the majority of the last two days thinking about how much I've annoyed you." He looked up at John. "We should go to sleep now. When we wake up, things will be different than they were this morning, but also different than they are right now. Please don't go weird. If this was a mistake, we'll figure something out. But don't convince yourself it was a mistake just because it's new and different, okay?" He turned over and pressed his back against John, pulling John's arm around him and holding his hand.

John curled close to him, shifting to get comfortable. "I am not going to get weird," he murmured, kissing the back of Sherlock's neck. "You just make sure you don't forget any of this by the time you wake up."

"I won't forget any of it," Sherlock said. "We both know I won't." He closed his eyes.

"You are drunk," he smiled, kissing him one more time before closing his eyes to sleep.

"Only enough to have let this happen, John," Sherlock assured him, "not enough to have made it happen. I will not be drunk in the morning, and I will have not forgotten. Nor will I have changed my mind." He squeezed John's hand and let sleep take him.

"Neither will I," John said, following soon after. 


End file.
